


i'm sorry to interrupt it's just (i'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Captain America (Movies) RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Crushes, M/M, Sebastian Stan's mouth might be ruining my life, Unresolved Sexual Tension, in which Anthony Mackie is a stand-in for my difficult feelings about Sebastian Stan's fucking mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6929773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honestly, this is not a problem Anthony ever expected to have. </p><p>It's not that he thinks of himself as exclusively straight, or anything. He's found men attractive before, followed through on it, even. It's no big deal. It's just-</p><p>It's just Sebastian Stan's <em>fucking mouth</em> might actually be ruining his life, is all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm sorry to interrupt it's just (i'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you)

Honestly, this is not a problem Anthony ever expected to have. 

It's not that he thinks of himself as exclusively straight, or anything. He's found men attractive before, followed through on it, even. It's no big deal. It's just-

It's just Sebastian Stan's  _fucking mouth_ might actually be ruining his life, is all.

He picks up on it first when they're doing interviews together for Cap 2. Seb's mouth is fairly attractive in general, Anthony's fine with conceding that. He's got a great smile, something that he can't help but respond to, a grin that's all sharp teeth. But suddenly they're interviewing together the whole of the press junket, and he can't help but notice that Seb's got this tell when he's thinking hard. He'll suck his lower lip into his mouth, catch it with his teeth, and then slowly let it go. He does this three, four times in a minute, and Anthony watches how his bottom lip gets redder, a little swollen, and is suddenly aware that he's uncomfortably half-hard in his jeans.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, and tries to ignore it.

 

It doesn't work.

"Robert  _Redford_ , man," Sebastian says reverentially, passes him and Chris a beer. They're in Seb's hotel room after one of the premieres, and Anthony's so tired he can hardly keep track of which time zone they're in let alone which city. He lets his head fall back on the couch, swallows a mouthful of beer, watches Sebastian tap the mouth of the bottle against his lip. "Robert fucking Redford," Seb says again. "We were in a  _movie_ with him, you guys."

"I had an actual conversation with him," Chris says, looking as if he's on the edge of a smirk. Sebastian rolls his eyes, throws himself down on the couch next to Anthony, flings one long leg up over Anthony's knee. He thinks about pushing it off, but Sebastian's warm and he's fucking exhausted, so he just leaves it there, drinks more beer. "An actual, filmed conversation," Chris continues. "With  _lines_. Multiple lines."

"Yeah, yeah," Sebastian says, stretches out over Anthony to kick Chris in the thigh, "lines, whatever, I got slapped in the face by him."

"And what a pretty sight that was," Anthony tells him, half joking and half serious, because fuck, _fuck_ , it was a pretty scene, he has way too many feelings about how many emotions Sebastian can carry with his eyes and the twist of his mouth. "I didn't even get a  _scene_ with the guy." Sebastian dissolves into laughter, smacks Anthony's shoulder, swallows half his beer in one long pull and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Stretches out a little further, leans back on the arm of the couch. Anthony looks away very carefully, drinks his beer as if he's not thinking about Sebastian lounging at him at all.

"I can't believe I was in a movie with Robert Redford and I didn't get to blow him," Sebastian says, and Anthony narrowly avoids an actual spittake. "Teenage dreams shattered, I swear."

"You-  _god_ , Stan, what the hell," Chris says, and Sebastian shrugs, raises his eyebrows.

"Don't tell me you wouldn't," he returns, and Chris looks thoughtful for a beat or two.

"No, okay, fine, you're right, who wouldn't, it's  _Redford_." Anthony takes a deep breath, imagines Seb on his knees and has to immediately stop imagining it, drains the last of his drink.

"I've gonna get to bed," Chris says after a minute or two, "I'm beat, I can't believe we have more of this tomorrow."

"And the next day, and the day after that," Anthony agrees mournfully, because Marvel press junkets are the worst.

"You said it," Chris says. "I'm pretty sure some of the interviews from today aren't gonna make any sense at all, I was so tired I didn't know what I was even saying."

"How's the..." Sebastian asks, looks thoughtful for a second. "You know, the anxiety thing."

"Not too bad," Chris yawns. "Better now that I've got you knuckleheads around. Hey, thanks for the beer. I better go before I pass out right here."

"Yeah, man, I'll see you in the morning." Chris stands up, stretches out his back a little and looks down at them with a smile that makes Anthony feel, suddenly, a little awkward.

"I'd better-" Anthony starts, and Seb lifts his other leg onto Anthony's lap, gives him the Winter Soldier stare. "Fuck, fine, I guess I'm not going anywhere."

"Just have another beer with me," Sebastian says, "I'm too keyed up to sleep yet, you know?"

"Fine," Anthony agrees, "okay, fine, Chris, grab us a beer on your way out?" Chris passes him the drinks with another smile that sets him off-balance, makes him wonder what's going on or what  _Chris_ thinks is going on, and then his head's going in circles and he has to take a deep breath, drink his beer and try not to think about it. He's got a lapful of Sebastian Stan in half his premiere suit, shirt creased and coming untucked, tie flung over the coffee table. He feels like he hasn't slept properly in weeks.

"What are you doing once we're off this?"

"That thing Paul's doing," Anthony shrugs. "Then probably more Marvel, they've got me signed for Avengers 2, I don't know."

"Yeah, you're part of the family now," Sebastian says, looks at him very seriously, runs his tongue along his lip like he's thinking about something. Anthony just waits. "You look tired," Seb says after a while.

"I  _am_ tired," Anthony agrees, "you're not?"

"I don't know," Sebastian sighs, "I guess I got used to it," and then he's pulling his legs off Anthony's lap, sitting up, running his hand through his hair. "Go on, go to bed, or I'll have to carry you in those interviews tomorrow."

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that," Anthony retorts, reaches out and rests the cold bottle against the back of Sebastian's neck. "Vanilla Ice, baby, you should be used to the freeze by now."

"I hate you," Seb says, "fuck,  _fuck_ , I fucking hate you, Mackie, you're the worst," but he's smiling wide, and Anthony pats him on the knee, puts his beer down, gets to his feet before he can do something stupid like kiss Sebastian Stan until they're breathless and stupid together.

It's just- they're in such close proximity, that's all it is. The filming, and then the pressure cooker that is the press junket, and  _hotel rooms_ , and once Anthony gets back to his real life he'll be fine. It'll be fine.

 

It is, it  _is_ fine, they talk on the phone every week or two and it's just nice, that's all, they're friends and they talk and it's nice, and then they're doing Cap 3 and it might be, it might be  _worse._ The Russos have picked up on whatever bro-chemistry Anthony and Sebastian are apparently radiating, and they're playing with it, pairing them up, getting the humor through their back-and-forth.

"Can you move your seat up?" Bucky asks, and Sebastian has to say the line half a dozen times before he can finish the scene without dissolving into the kind of laughter that has everyone frowning at them and trying very hard not to grin.

"I hate you," Sam wheezes, and Anthony puts every bit of his frustration into it, and then whichever Russo calls  _cut_ and Seb rolls to his feet, pulls Anthony up, shakes out his shoulder where Anthony knows the metal arm is super fucking heavy. He looks objectively terrible, all stringy hair and hobo beard, and what's even worse is Anthony finds it _compelling_ , especially in these moments where Seb leans in, gives him a conspiratorial grin.

"You good, Mack Attack?" he asks, and tucks his hair behind one ear, and it's another tell but Anthony has no idea what the fuck it means. He doesn't know what the mouth-biting means either. It's all- it's all bad, is what it is, and he just has to get through it. He shouldn't have watched Political Animals the last three nights in a row, he's having these weird feelings about Sebastian's tender mouth, and it's just, it's getting out of control.

 

Publicity is publicity, interviews upon interviews forever, and he doesn't even hate them, with Sebastian there and bouncing things off him until he can tell even the journalists, bloggers, whatever, they have no idea what the fuck's going on either. They're tired, they're always tired, and Anthony finds himself singing more than once, punch-drunk with exhaustion and the weirdness of having to keep whatever it is he's feeling under control.

It's easier to play it off with a million compliments, almost to the point where he can tell Sebastian's not sure what the play is, and Anthony keeps pushing it, watches him crack and blush and lose the smooth front he's got going on. They talk about, fuck, Anthony doesn't even _know_ , they're talking shit about Team Iron Man and Sebastian's knife-sharp cheekbones and perfect fucking hair and god, fuck, his  _dick_ , this stupid _sexy sea bass_ and _mack attack_ shit all over the place. And Anthony knows this will all be up on YouTube getting picked over immediately but it's fun, it is, it's dumb and it's fun and they have to do something to keep themselves going through a publicity tour that's even more brutal than usual. The Marvel machine is huge, bigger than it was when it was Cap 2, big enough that Anthony wonders some days whether he'll ever get out of these contracts that never seem to end, and through it all Sebastian is biting his lip and licking his mouth and going from stupid to terribly earnest and thoughtful at the drop of a pin, and Anthony just, he can't hardly take it.

He looks up solo interviews, watches Sebastian talk about Bucky's motivation and guilt and trauma, tries to count the number of times Sebastian licks his lips or chews at his bottom lip with his teeth or whatever. It's a bad choice, he's making so many bad choices, he can't even _look_ at Seb during their press each day because of his mouth and how he touches his hair, and the interviews are just getting more complicated.

"What feels sexier," he asks, because apparently he has a death wish and going up in unfulfilled confusing lust flames is the way he wants to die, "with the arm or without it?" and thinks of Sebastian rolling his shoulder out, the murder swagger and the way he holds himself, and it's not even a surprise when Sebastian says, thoughtful,  _with_.

"Why aren't you looking at me as much in this- in these interviews?" Seb asks in reply, and that  _is_ a surprise, something he has to fumble for a bullshit answer to about Marvel telling him to stay on his side of the room, whatever, no looking, no touching, it's fine.

"Sorry," Sebastian says afterwards, quiet before their next interview, "I didn't- fuck, man, sorry, I hope I didn't make it awkward," and Anthony just laughs, messes up his hair, drinks his coffee and watches Sebastian try to finger-comb it back into place.

"Oh look," he says, carefully light, "you made it worse, great work," and smooths it down like he has a right to.

 

It's the second-to-last night of the press tour when Sebastian touches his arm, raises an eyebrow.

"Beers in my room?" he says, and Anthony considers for a minute before nodding.

"Sure, man, sounds good, I'll see you up there," he says, and tries not to freak out.

There's nothing to freak out about. They're just friends,  _pals_ , hanging out, and it's not like Anthony hasn't done this before. They  _are_ friends, for real, and he's talked to Seb a million times on the phone, made bad jokes about and to him, come up with half a dozen nicknames at least three of which they can't even  _tell_ the press because they're so fucking filthy. It's fine. It's definitely fine.

Four beers later it  _is_ fine, and Anthony feels more relaxed than he has in months, light-headed from the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that only comes from thirty countries in a month but feeling extremely chill stretched out on one of the hotel's remarkably uncomfortable couches.

Sebastian's opposite him, slouched in an armchair looking significantly more disreputable and louche than Anthony's ever known him to actually  _be_ , and when he gets up, Anthony thinks it's to get another drink, but instead he goes into the bathroom, leaves the door open, and Anthony hears water running.

"What are you doing?"

"I gotta shave, man, my face is itchy," Sebastian tells him like it's obvious, and it might just be that Anthony's drunk enough he doesn't see the flaw in this logic but he gets up, leans against the doorframe and watches Seb lather his jaw. He hasn't been looking and hasn't been looking and now he's looking as much as he can, at the mirror and at Seb's face, his fingers pressed carefully against his own skin, the way he lathers up the shave gel and drags the razor down through it. Seb makes eye contact with him briefly through the mirror, holds his gaze like he knows what Anthony's thinking, which frankly would be a fucking miracle because  _Anthony_ doesn't know what he's thinking right now. Watching someone shave is remarkably intimate, though, maybe too much, but they're four beers in and Anthony feels warm and quiet and he can see that Seb's a little drunk too, less controlled than usual, and it's just- it's fascinating.

"Fuck," Seb hisses suddenly, pulls the razor away and frowns at his reflection. Anthony gets closer, rests his hip against the edge of the long bathroom vanity.

"You cut yourself?" he asks casually, and Sebastian nods, swipes his thumb over the corner of his bottom lip and pulls it away a little bloody. "It's those shaky hands, Sea Bass," Anthony tells him, "come on, man, you're gonna hurt yourself, let me-" and before he can think seriously about it he's grabbing the razor, stepping into Seb's personal space like it's fine.

"I can do it," Sebastian insists, but he's smiling, and there's still a smear of blood on his mouth, so Anthony just rolls his eyes and touches two fingers to his chin, tilts his face to the right angle so he can drag the blade down Sebastian's jaw. It's easier than he expects given he's hardly been able to look at Seb for months; everything stills into careful movement, the glide of the razor over his skin. Seb's looking at him, maybe, gray eyes wide and interested, but Anthony ignores it, focuses on his hands and what he's doing.

"See," he says after a minute, tilts Sebastian's chin up to get the line of his throat. "This is easier, right."

"Yeah," Sebastian agrees, swallows carefully against the blade. "Yeah, okay, you got me. This is easier."

"Drunk shaving," Anthony snorts as he rinses out the razor. "What were you thinking."

"You've drunk the  _same amount_ as me," Sebastian points out, and Anthony smirks.

"Guess I'm just better than you in every way," he teases. "You'll have to admit to it in the next interview. Hey, tighten your lip so I can-" Sebastian laughs quietly but obeys him, bites at his lower lip and pulls it taut, and Anthony blinks, takes a breath, slides the razor up under the curve of Seb's mouth. "Yeah," he says when he's done, breathes out, runs fingertips lightly over Seb's cheek to check for anywhere he's missed. Sebastian's still got his lip caught under his teeth, and his eyes are bigger, pupils dilated, and Anthony touches his thumb to Seb's cheekbone very soft and light. His skin is very smooth, traces of soap on his chin and damp hair clinging to his jaw.

Anthony sets the razor down, leans in closer, reaches around him to grab a washcloth and wet it with hot water from the faucet. It's very easy to wipe the soap off Sebastian's face, to touch him gently as if he hasn't spent months feeling obsessive and conflicted about his fucking mouth, and Sebastian closes his eyes, relaxes into it.

"You're all done," Anthony says, flicks him with the wet washcloth just because he can, and Sebastian laughs again, grabs the washcloth and drops it on the floor, rubs his palm over his jaw.

"Man, okay, that's a good shave," he says, and lets himself go loose, slumping back against the vanity and looking up at Anthony through his eyelashes. "I should get you to do it again sometime."

"One time offer," Anthony tells him. "Because you couldn't be trusted with sharp objects," and he's about to step away when Seb catches him by the belt loops, holds him in place. "Hey," Anthony says, pretends to struggle, "you can't just  _keep_ me here until you need a shave again, I've seen the stubble you grow out, it'll be like a  _week_ away," and Seb grins, sharp.

"Fine," he says, "but-" and goes quiet, bites at his lip as if he's thinking hard.  _Fuck_ , Anthony thinks, and just gives in, because Seb's hands are on his hips and he'd only have to step forward a fraction to get them flush up against each other, and it's been, it's been  _months_ , and Seb is biting his lip like he has no idea.

"This," Anthony says, "fuck, man, _this_ , it's not, it's not fair," and touches his thumb to Seb's mouth, pushes hard enough he can feel Sebastian's teeth against his bottom lip. It must hurt, it must sting, but Seb's eyes just go wider like the pain is doing something for him.

"What do you mean," he asks, voice suddenly low and dark and quiet. "What's not  _fair_."

"Your  _fucking mouth_ ," Anthony grits out, "and- Jesus, the thing you do in interviews, the way you bite it, your lip, you don't even know you're doing it, you want to know why I can't look at you?" His thumb is still resting on Seb's lip, and Sebastian closes his eyes, parts his lips, sucks the pad of Anthony's thumb into his mouth. " _Fuck_ ," Anthony says again, and gets up against Seb, grabs him by the hair, pulls hard. Seb makes a noise like it's doing  _everything_ for him, and Anthony knows with a flash how he'd fuck, about Seb's mouth on his dick, the noises he'd make. "You're the worst," he says, and Sebastian releases his thumb, bites his lip again, holds his gaze with hooded eyes.

"Would you just shut up and fucking kiss me already," he demands, and yeah, okay, yes, Anthony can do that.

**Author's Note:**

> who has done a way too deep-dive into youtube videos of sebastian stan and anthony mackie's interview highlights HAHA NOT ME FOR SURE (it me, it DEFINITELY me)
> 
> join me [on tumblr](http://notcaycepollard.tumblr.com) where i continue to enjoy dying and being dead about sebstan's terrible glorious tender fucking mouth (i hate it) (it's the worst)


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